Milkbone Underwear
by Anne Packrat
Summary: Can it really be Havoc's fault that Breda hates dogs? Breda x Hand, Havoc x OC, Rated for sexual scene, language, and dialogue.


Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist was and continues to be created by Hiromu Arakawa and is distributed by Square-Enix, Funimation and Viz. I make no money off this story.

Warning: Contains sexual scenes, language, and dialogue.

* * *

Milkbone Underwear

An FMA Humor Smut Fic

by Anne Packrat

* * *

Breda stared in shock at the man on his knees in front of him. This really was rather disturbing. He'd started rooming with Havoc the year before (their first year at the Academy), but never in a million years would he have predicted this happening.

"A woman wants to go away for the weekend with you?" he asked incredulously, staring down cautiously at the begging man before him. "With you, Mr. Horrible-With-Women, Can't-get-a-date-to-save-his-life, Virgin-until-he-dies, Havoc?"

"Yes!" the tall blond cried his voice equal parts happiness and desperation, "I just need to find someone to take care of her dog."

"And you want me to do it?" Breda wasn't overly fond of dogs. He didn't really hate them per se. He just didn't have much contact with them. He had no wish to spend his weekend taking care of some woman's mutt. Still... He looked down at the pleading eyes of his roommate. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for Havoc, (probably quite literally), and who was Breda to take it away from him?

Breda sighed. "Fine, I'll watch over the damn dog."

Havoc's eyes lit up. "Thank you!" He hugged Breda's legs almost causing the heavier man to lose his balance. "You won't regret this!"

"Yeah, fine," Breda said, trying to push Havoc's head away from his nether regions. "Now would you mind getting up before anyone sees us and gets the wrong idea?"

"What?" Havoc realized what position they were in and backed up. "Oh right sorry."

The tall blond got to his feet, sporting a huge grin on his face. "This is going to be the best weekend ever!"

Dusting off his pants, Breda nodded. "I'm sure. Now who is this woman anyway?"

Popping a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it, Havoc didn't answer at first. He blew out a puff of smoke and his grin widened. "Irene Miller."

Breda's jaw dropped. " _ You _ have a date with Irene Miller? General Aiken's secretary? The one woman that all of the male cadets have a hard on for?"

Havoc nodded, appearing to greatly enjoy his friend's stunned reaction.

The portly cadet was still not convinced. "You sure it's _ the _ Irene Miller? You know the one with the..." He made a cupping motion in front of his chest that indicated either the woman had an extremely large bust, or that she regularly shoplifted cantaloupes in her brassiere.

Taking another puff on his cigarette, Havoc answered, "Yep. Breasts, butt and all."

Breda let out a whistle. "Damn, why would she go out with you of all people?"

His friend's tone caused Havoc's grin to fade slightly. "It's not like I'm a fucking hunchback you know. I got plenty of charm."

Snorting, Breda replied, "Yeah, sure, but its buried so deep you'd need a dozen men digging for a week to find it." He leaned against the table next to him. "You didn't answer my question. How did you manage to bag the hottest girl in the Academy?"

Havoc put out his cigarette in an ashtray (one of several in the room) and reached for another. "You know how I generally tend to sneak out to smoke during the last ten minutes of Tactics class?"

Breda nodded. Cigarettes and alcohol were banned on campus, so pack-a-day people like Havoc had to sneak around to get their fix.

"Well, the other day she caught me. I thought for sure I was busted, but instead she asks me for a smoke and then invites me out on a date! Turns out she only dates guys who smoke."

Giving his friend yet another disbelieving stare, Breda said, "You're one lucky son of a bitch, you know that right?"

Havoc grinned and lit up his cigarette.

Breda sighed. "Why the hell," he muttered, "didn't I take up smoking too?"

* * *

It was the next day when Irene Miller came to drop off her dog. Having never said more then a few words to the woman before, Breda was surprised to find out that she was quite the chatterer. She was flitting about the apartment asking questions and barely stopping long enough for Havoc to answer. The woman turned out not to be the brightest bulb either, frequently asking the same question again and again.

Still, Breda could forgive all this by what the woman wore, or rather, how little she wore. A black leather miniskirt was short enough to show off a long expanse of tanned, toned thigh. On top she wore a short red jacket and underneath was a tank-top tight enough to allow anyone to see any smuggled produce inside. It was an outfit designed to beat any man into drooling submission and not for the first time that day did Breda curse Havoc for his unearthly fortune.

Soon enough Irene lost interest in their apartment and rattled off a long list of instructions on the care of her precious pooch. So quickly did she speak that Breda barely had enough time to catch it all. "Er, okay then," Breda said, still slightly stunned by her assault of words, "Do you want to go bring your dog in, then? He's in the car right?"

Irene laughed at that. An action that caused her breasts to bounce in a most heavenly way. "No, you silly goose!" she chided the red-haired man. She turned around and bent over to rummage in her oversized purse. Breda's eyes were drawn to her shapely rear, which moved as she did. He managed to tear his eyes away just as she turned around with her hands out and a brilliant smile on her face.

"This is Pedrovich Montblanc Turmonoski the III," she declared happily.

Breda immediately decided that that was way too big a name for the tiny shivering pile of skin and fur she held in her hands. No, a better name would be Bug-eye, or Shaky, or "Are-You-Sure-That's-Really-A-Dog-and-Not-a-Rat? or...

"But you can just call him, Pedro."

Or that worked too.

So Breda was left with a dog bed and bag of supplies in one hand, and Pedro in the other. He watched Havoc leave with for the weekend with one of the most gorgeous women in Central on his arm.

As his mind wandered over the lovely images of miniskirt clad rear, he became aware of a sound coming from his hand. Pedro was staring at Breda and baring his teeth. Out of his mouth came a high-pitched rattling noise. It almost sounded like...

"You can't possibly be growling at me," Breda said to the dog, "Com'n, that's like a mouse going after an elephant." Shaking his head in disbelief, Breda wondered just what he'd gotten himself into.

* * *

Despite the earlier incident, Breda found that taking care of Pedro was actually remarkably easy. The dog was old and couldn't eat anything solid, so all feeding required was spreading a pre-made paste on a plate. Pedro tired easily and didn't need to be taken all that far, so besides making sure the dog had his sweater on, walking him was a simple task too. The rest of the time the dog just slept.

Saturday passed without any trouble, and Breda spent it studying for the upcoming midterm exams, barely noticing the dog's presence. Finally, he found his mind couldn't hold anymore and he decided to take a break. He took a quick glance at Pedro, wondering why he bothered, as the dog had barely moved since the last time he'd checked on him.

"God, I hate studying..." Breda said to the sleeping dog in the corner, as he settled down with a beer. His lack of enthusiasm for hitting the books nothwithstanding, Breda never really had a problem with his grades. No, that was Havoc's department, and by all rights the smoker should have been spending all weekend nose deep in the pages of his textbooks.

Not that Breda could blame his friend for ditching studying in favor of Ms. Irene Miller. "God damn is she fine... With that tight ass and those smooth thighs..." he said, "And her breasts, holy hell, I'd die the happiest man alive if my final sight was her naked chest."

Breda looked down in mild surprise at the small tent in his pants. Then he grunted and loosened his pants thus freeing his erection. Seeing as how he was alone, and the dog was sleeping, he figured he might as well indulge a bit.

He wrapped a hand around his shaft and stroked up and down, his penis gradually hardening as he continued. He went back to his fantasies of grabbing Irene and kissing her hard, ripping off that oh-so-tight tank top and teasing those lovely nipples into tight little buds.

He felt a twinge of jealousy as he realized that Havoc was probably doing just that and more with Irene right now. Images filled his head of just what Havoc might be seeing, and doing. In place of Havoc though, Breda put himself in the fantasy. Instead of Havoc, it was Breda himself doing the licking, nipping, and rubbing that drove the woman to moan over and over again as he hit just the right spot.

Soon it was too much and he felt his balls tighten. He moaned as his penis jerked, spilling his seed into his now still hand.

"Damn, I needed that," he muttered, eyes closed while he enjoyed the aftereffects of his orgasm.

A weird rattling sound made him open his eyes and stare down incredulously at the sight of Pedro on the couch growling at him again. Something clicked in Breda's head. "You mad because I'm thinking about having sex with your owner?"

His only response was another anemic growl.

The portly cadet grinned and sidled closer to the dog, leaning over him. "What exactly do you think you can do about it, huh?"

Breda flicked the dogs ear, and pulled back just as Pedro snapped at his finger. "You're the equivalent of an old man, Pedro. You have no teeth, and I'm at least a hundred times your size."

He leaned down toward the dog, his grin widening. "I'm going to fantasize about your owner all I want, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

Breda had expected Pedro to go after his nose.

He was wrong.

With a loud cry, Pedro lunged forward and snapped at the head of his now flaccid cock. Breda howled in pain as several small sharp teeth tore into the tip of his penis.

Pedro did in fact, have several teeth, and he knew how to use them.

Breda had been wrong about that too.

* * *

It was entirely understandable that Breda was somewhat cranky when Havoc came to visit him in the hospital the next day.

Between his eighty-year-old neighbor Mrs. Forsythe being the one to find him, and the alternate looks of sympathy or muffled laughter from the paramedics and nurses, Breda was sure he'd been turned permanently red from embarrassment.

"How you doing, buddy?" Havoc asked, looking abashed as he came toward the bed.

"How the hell do you think I'm doing?!" Breda growled, "I had to get twenty stitches down there. Twenty! Do you know how much that hurts?"

Havoc winced and gingerly took a seat next to the bed. "At least the doctor says there's not going to be any permanent physical damage."

Breda glared at him. "It's not the physical damage I'm worried about! I'm never going to live this down! You think any woman is going to want to date a guy who almost had his Johnson bitten off by a fucking chihuahua?"

The smoker coughed, trying to hold back laughter. "At least the dog let you finish first right?"

Eyes narrowing, Breda opened his mouth to yell at his "friend," but he was interrupted. It was that moment the door burst open to reveal Irene Miller, in yet another short skirt. Her shirt was again very tight, her expansive cleavage threatening to spill out at any moment. Any straight man would be excited by the sight of those two huge melons held in only by a small expanse of straining fabric. At the moment, however, Breda was anything but aroused.

"Oh, thank god, you're alright, Heymans!" she cried. She swept toward the bed. Breda panicked when he realized that she held Pedro.

"Get that thing away from me!" he cried.

Irene paused at the foot of the bed. "But we just wanted to say how sorry we were," she nuzzled the dog, "Aren't we Pookikins?" She shoved the dog in Breda's face, causing the man to squeal and pull away.

"Irene, hon, can you just wait outside, please?" Havoc asked, when he noticed Breda was starting to hyperventilate.

Not understanding how anyone wouldn't want to be with her innocent little doggie, Irene paused in confusion. After a minute to allow the hamsterwheels in her head to catch up, Irene nodded and left, thankfully taking the evil Pedro with her. Breda's breathing evened out.

Concerned, Havoc looked at his friend. "What's wrong? A couple of days ago you'd have loved to have Irene Miller in a tight shirt begging for forgiveness."

"Havoc," Breda answered, "A woman with the biggest sweater puppies in the world still can't make up for a dog like that."

* * *

Author's Indulgence

Yet again a bit rougher then I like, and it's really last minute too! Yay!

Anyone know where the title refers to? Bueller? Anyone? No?

Sigh, I feel old now.

Pedro is based on my neighbor's elderly chihuahua, who as far as I know hasn't bitten anyone's penis, but does try to get at our ankles as we walk by. Fortunately he only has one tooth.

Thanks to the creators and crew of Fullmetal Alchemist.

Thanks to my husband, Ryan, despite taking the freaking laptop away.

Thanks to the readers, feedback givers, reviewers etc.

Thanks to the wonderful, patient mod of FMAfuhq, Velvetmace.

And thanks to you for reading.

-- Anne Packrat 4/4/07


End file.
